


Silver | COMPLETED

by ofgalaxxies



Category: Black Butler, Kuroshitsuji, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Ciel is dead sorry, Death, M/M, Pain, Reminiscing, Sadness, Sebastian mourns that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 13:57:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12936726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofgalaxxies/pseuds/ofgalaxxies
Summary: 'He was blue, and I was red. He was silver, and I was black.'As told by Sebastian Michaelis.| Sebaciel short fic. Don't like, don't read. | Sebaciel is my #1 OTP |





	1. Silver

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Littlest_Raindrop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Littlest_Raindrop/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this! I love comments and kudos!
> 
> This work is dedicated to The_Littlest_Raindrop for all the love and support they gave me on this. I know it's a short work, but your encouragement, comments and willingness to read something from a new reader of yours really inspired me. Thank you!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy! My other Kuro fics can be located on Wattpad at @whentheghostsdance . My main Wattpad account, complete with original novels, is @_butterfly_effects_ .

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian Michaelis' thoughts cannot stay away from a certain young Earl, and he decides to write.

**10/11/1892**

'He was silver, and he was exquisite.'

My words flow across the oldened parchment, black ink seeping into the paper like a stain. The wind blows across my skin, and across the cherry blossom branches above, allowing the petals to drift down around me.

I do not live in the past, nor do I enjoy remembering it. Indeed, this is the first time I have committed memories to a paper so freely; still, I feel an urge to do so that I cannot explain.

Or perhaps I can, and therefore I choose not to. It is not a thought I would entertain consciously. It is best to write down the thoughts in my head, and let them die so I can carry on with my shadowed existence.

When I am done, I will hide these papers somewhere no one but I will be able to find.

Then I will be free once more.

For now, the tip of my — his — quill touches the paper again.

'He was silver, a shade unlike any before him, a beautiful mixing of light and dark in a soul that had seen both and could offer both. He was bright, a pure soul that carried sin and darkness and was not stained by it, but instead conformed to it, melding the darkness with the light to create a beautiful silver that was ever so radiant.

He was silver, the colour of the moonlight that cascaded down on our skin when we snuck out into the woods to meet up, exchanging feather-soft kisses and pained gasps as we clung to each other. He was the colour dancing across our skin when we knew we would meet the end of our relationship one day and could not care less about it in the moment, tangled up in each other in intimate touches that never saw the sunlight.

He was silver, and from the start, I knew I was never supposed to look upon such beauty, and I did. I did, and I reveled in the dark light it cast over me, and I believe he was tricked by his own light. He saw me awash in the glow of my next feast, and he loved me. He was never supposed to love me, and he did, allowing his emotions to seep into his bones and let whispers fall from the lips that killed so many men. From death came love, and it did not last.

He was the colour of the fingers he drew along my skin in the night, pale, trembling fingers that were weak for his age. He was the strength of the limbs curled around me under the covers he allowed me to slip under, holding, desperate, afraid. Oh, how he was afraid, and of only one thing he feared would come to pass in the day as it did in his dreams. He feared my abandonment, the cutting of the contract that had bound us for over two years. He had been with me for so long -- or was it I that had stayed with him? For me, it was but a blink of an eye in a sea of time that contained thousands of years of existing. I obeyed him, however, taking him into my arms with a tenderness I did not feel, and I cradled him until his breathing slowed and his nightmares did not wrack his frail form.

He was the frailty I saw in him every day. Even compared to other humans, especially his betrothed, he was exceptionally weak, and he relied on me. And I fell for that. I fell not for him, but for the superiority it gave me over him, just another thing I was above him in. I took care of him; he could not take care of me. And he tried, oh how he tried, allowing me to feed off of other souls in the while I was waiting for his. I did not. To eat other souls before his would be as eating disgusting snacks before an exquisite banquet, and ruin one's appetite. No, I would not risk ruining a wonderful meal.

He was silver, and he entranced me.'

I lay the quill down on the words spreading out on the parchment, and rest my head against the tree standing behind me.

I never loved him, but neither did I hate him. I do not understand I what felt for him, and I hate the confusion seeping through me at the very thought of his cerulean eye, so bright when it was directed at me.

_What have you done to me, Ciel Phantomhive?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> | my Wattpad username has changed to _wander-lust_ |


	2. Cerulean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian continues to reminiscence on his longest contract yet, only to have a disturbing vision.

**11/11/1892**

'His gaze was the fire of a million burning stars, tinted a brilliant blue that outshone any other hue I had seen before.'

A soft sigh escapes my lips. I do not understand this pressing urge to write down the images fluttering about in my mind, so relentless in their desire to be remembered.

The wind is still blowing about, brushing my skin with icy cold fingers. If I was human, I would shiver; I am not, however, and it used to be I paid no mind to what I truly am.

Now, I find myself haunted by "what if"s.

I hate it and I enjoy it, so far as one such as myself can enjoy certain things.

Or perhaps the better term for my feeling is "tolerate". I tolerate it, and that is more than I have done for anyone before.

He was different, and I find myself unable to come up with a suitable excuse as to why. Or maybe I simply do not want to. Perhaps I simply want a reason, however small, to remember him.

I continue writing.

'He was cerulean, the colour of his oft-chosen outfits and the bright gaze that I soon learnt held me captive when it was fixed upon me. He was a bright blue, the colour of the sky at midnight when we found ourselves in the hidden darkness that concealed our embrace. He was a deadly grace and he knew it.

He was cerulean. His hair matched his lone eye, and he was the colour of his losses. He was the navy that blended so well into the darkness we had both made our home, and he was dangerous.

He was the colour of the night hours we hid ourselves in, brushing soft kisses against each other's skin, silent promises we never dared speak pulsing in the space between us. His touch was fiery against my skin, bringing to life within me something I had never imagined could exist. I did not know if love existed, but in that moment, I almost wondered if it did. In those moments, I entertained a fantasy where it did exist, for me.

He was cerulean, many shades of blue melded into one overwhelming hue. He was mesmerising, and I found myself beneath the influence of a spell he himself did not control. Some nights, we simply lay in each other's arms, feeling each other's warmth and allowing ourselves to relax into each other. Other nights, we were passionate, wild, and with each night, he did not tame me, but he calmed me. His touch satiated my need for blood, his voice calmed my lust for his soul. I do not know how.

He was cerulean, the colour of the sky and the ocean of time that filled the years in age that separated us. Beneath his covers, I found an almost lethargic solace in holding such a fragile boy in my arms.

He did not last.

We did not last.

We knew it would end, but somehow, we managed to forget when we were together; it did not change our ending, no matter how we wanted it to.'

We both knew his bright colour would soon fade away before me.

He was cerulean, and he was overwhelming.'

That is good enough for today's entry. I set down the quill, and lay the parchment beside me. I stand up, stretching my limbs out though I do not need to. It is a human quirk I have picked up after a millennia of life with them.

The afternoon is golden, a warmth I gladly bask in, as much as I can. It is quiet here, a spot I have found away from the human world that is so noisy constantly, always moving forward, always looking ahead.

It is funny that I, a creature of the night, know how to relax and enjoy myself better than those mortals around me. Then again, I have the time to.

For a brief moment, an image flickers before my eyes, and I start. Staring straight at me is the master who has never truly left my thoughts since his death, his one eye piercing into mine as his mouth opens and he snaps out an order that I never hear, for his voice does not come out.

And just as quickly, he fades, leaving me feeling helplessly forlorn, all my enjoyment of the day gone.

_Why do you haunt me so, Ciel Phantomhive?_


	3. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian's writing muses upon who he was.

**12/11/1892**

'He was cerulean, and I was crimson.'

The quill's tip hovers over the paper, and I am unsure of what to write after those six words. I do not know why I have chosen to write things that should be trivial to a being such as I, but I have chosen, and it does not feel right to leave it off in the middle.

A breath escapes between my lips as I stare down at the parchment.

After yesterday's encounter, I have not felt the same. I cannot escape the image of his form in the sunlight, so real and tangible, yet so ethereal and distant. I have never felt the way I feel now, torn and longing for the touch of the one I cannot have. 

I used to take amusement in the heart break of others; it is my curse that I now understand their pain.

My quill touches the paper. Lifts up again. Hovers.

What am I to write about the young, navy-clad Earl who was so different from the rest?

Perhaps nothing. Perhaps it is time to write more about who I was during the contract.

And so the ink continues to seep into the yellow parchment on my crossed legs.

'I was red, the colour he ordered me to spill on a common basis. I was the colour that seeped out from between my fingers, the colour he saw me decorated in more than once and smirked at it. I was the victory he claimed over those pathetic mortals who called themselves men, who acted tough and hid at the first sign of danger.

I was his pawn, and I revelled in the bloodshed that it brought to my fingertips. I was his Queen who moved any number of spaces upon the grounds he made into his playing board to complete his plans that I had every part in. I was a multitude of colours for him, whatever one he called me to be in the moment, white when pretending, grey when my allegiance was questionable to everyone but him, black when my true form showed, but above all, I was red. 

I was the colour he saw when he raged, such as when he tried to slap Lady Elizabeth and I had to act quickly. I was the colour of the fire that consumed his life, and I was the colour that rebuilt it into something darker. I was the colour that he toyed with, and how I loved it. Every master before him had wanted pathetic things, such as peace, or love, or a companion. He wanted, nor indeed did he need, any of that. He only wanted one thing from me in the beginning, and it was something I was happy -- if a demon can be said to feel such a thing -- to give him, for it drove him into my waiting arms. He only wanted revenge that ended in death, and he sold himself to the devil for it.

I was red, and he loved me for it. He did not require my love, as so many before him had, nor did he ask for it. He knew I could never love, and he did not care. 

I was the colour that drew us into warm embraces in the bitter cold, and I was the colour that he saw when our lips met. Our colours mingled, and for the first time in a thousand years, I did not feel nothing when we held each other.

I do not understand what I felt.

I was the colour of the red that painted my eyes, and somehow, he loved them. We were deadly together, a perfect mix of two colours that were beautiful on their own, but ethereal together. He was mine, but I was never his. Indeed, I took everything from him just as I gave everything to him.

My red was too powerful, and in the end, it decorated the body I once held close to me.

I was red, and he fell for it.'

That must be enough for today. The very thought of him... I can feel my hand trembling as I set down the quill. 

I inhale deeply, trying to steady myself. His ghost, or memory, whatever one may choose to call it, is still burned into my mind. I cannot escape the feeling that he is watching me, even now, as I write about him.

My gaze finds its way to the darkening sky, and I rest my head against the tree. I have had three contracts since him, and all of them paled in comparison. They were all pathetic, desperate creatures who were disgusting. I almost did not want to eat their souls after his, for it ruined the aftertaste of his that still lingered.

And then, I almost regret eating his. No, I do not, I only wish...

No. Such a foolish thought. Wishes do not exist, and it is just as well, for they would only harm. They mean nothing, and reminiscing over what ifs and memories do not help. I have nothing to gain from them.

Still, a part of me cannot help but wonder. If I could have him back, would I? If I could bring the only human I ever felt anything for back, would I?

Perhaps I would.

And it's that thought that sickens me.

_What is happening to me, Ciel Phantomhive?_


	4. Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian must let go of Ciel's memory.

**13/11/1892**

'I was black, and he embraced my darkness.'

His brief appearance still haunts me, and I cannot rid myself of the image of the sun glowing through his faint cerulean eye, giving it an ethereal beauty. For a moment, I had him back, and then I lost him again.

It should have been impossible, for he had no soul left. Perhaps it was a wistful imagination, or hallucination. No, I know better than to believe that. I do not hallucinate. It must have simply been my mind seeing what I wanted to see.

It is a rational explanation, and I feel disappointment settling over me as I accept the reason. What is happening to me?

I know, and I cannot accept it. If I do, I will never be the same.

I know, and I hate it. Perhaps, though, I also want to accept it. A soft sigh escapes my lips, and I stare at the scenery around me. I have never particularly enjoyed Earth's nature, but it is not quite as bad as the fire and brimstone of my residence when I am not contracted. My eyes fall on the paper settled on my legs; for now, I have kept a human form. I could choose any form I wish, but something about this form feels more preferable. More comfortable. 

Perhaps it reminds me of him. 

I breathe out another soft breath and continue to write about myself.

'I was black, and I took him in more ways than one. I was black, the colour of the darkness he surrounded himself with, the shadow that both guarded and threatened him. I was the colour that was darker then all others, but was subtle enough that no one noticed my danger until I struck. I was the darkness that stained his soul, driving him to revenge and rage he had never felt before. I was the colour of the whisper he heard in his darkened dreams, suggesting things he never could quite forget. 

I was black, the colour that he fell in love with. I entranced him, drawing him into a deadly game that ended with only one of us standing; in the end, it was not him, and he knew it before he played the first move. I was the colour of our deadly dance, black surrounding us as we placed ourselves in the other's arms, and stepped to the beat of a song that sang of bloodshed and sorrow and unspeakable agony that he harboured within his soul. I was the darkness that drew those emotions out of him, sparking a reign that saw terror spread across the alleyways and backstreets of the city he ruled from the shadows. The Queen thought she commanded him, when he only obeyed her for his own benefit.

I was black, and he loved it. Soon enough, I became the colour of the night that sheltered our soft whispers and passionate touches underneath a cold moon. I was the colour that guarded our relationship from an angry and unforgiving world, and he needed me. He needed my darkness to match his own. Together, we lay tangled each night, breath mingling in the air that encircled us. I was the colour that bound us, briefly, into one before ripping him from my arms. I was the darkness that mixed with the blood spreading across the floor from the small body whose bright blue eye had been closed forever. 

I was darkness, and I was death, and he came willingly with me, twining our hands in a way that I could never forget, even if I attempted to. He tangled our fingers in an embrace that spoke more than simple words of his ever could, and he remained silent, allowing his action to say what he wanted to me. I was the colour he followed along a darkened path, willingly sacrificing his soul for a revenge that would affect history, wiping his enemies from the earth before allowing himself to be taken as well. 

He saw clearly everything that I was -- I am -- and he accepted it. He loved it, and when his eyes closed for the last time, his soul was willing to give itself up to me.

His fate was death.

I was his fate.

Now he is gone, and I remain. Forever.

Goodbye, Ciel Phantomhive.'

I set the quill down for the last time, and roll the parchment up. I will hide this, so no eyes but mine will ever see it again. It would not do for it to be discovered, especially as it contains thoughts I will never dare share to the open air. 

I place it beside me, and look up at the now star-studded sky. The sunset is dying on the horizon, and the moon has begun to light the sky in a cold glow that I remember all too well from long nights and weak promises with a boy who I cannot forget.

The extent of my thoughts are disturbing to me, and yet I am reluctant to let go of them. They are, for lack of a more suitable word, comfortable. I do not want to forget, even if I could. 

I close my eyes, and allow my body to relax against the tree. I knew from the start he was different, and I mistook his type of different. I thought his soul was simply brighter; if only I had realized it was so much more than simply beautiful. It was entrancing, and unforgettable, and he knew it. 

He knew it from nights of gazing into my eyes, and from the way I would take to staring at him, wondering how his soul was so bright and so dark all at once. He knew it from the words he heard pass my lips quietly, so faint he had to listen to pick them out. He knew it. Of course he did.

_If I could you bring you back, I would have you right beside me for now and the centuries to come, Ciel Phantomhive._


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a faded memory, Sebastian relives a night not too long before he took Ciel's soul.

_'How long do you think we have?'_

_His question hung in the air, twisting with the weight of its intention. Our breaths mingled in the closeness our bodies provided, our warmth a shield against the coldness of the night surrounding us. I suppose the warmth was more for him, for he could grow cold so easily, but somehow, I found it comforting as well._

_'I do not know, Young Master.'_

_'I do not know either, Sebastian, and I am troubled by that. Though I know, of course, one thing that renders the answer void anyway.' His voice was soft as it reached me, whispered within a few breaths._

_Then he shifted to look into my eyes._

_'And what is that, Young Master?'_

_His fingers did not brush mine, as they used to so many times before with the spark of the human emotion he felt deep within the soul I was to consume._

_Perhaps, once I consumed that soul, I would, too, feel the extent of emotions I saw dancing in his eyes when we were alone, coming together under the comfort of the darkness we both had made our home. Or perhaps, I would not._

_Perhaps I would never know, for in that moment his words came to life in the air between us. 'We won't last, and we were never supposed to.'_

_My eyes widened with the shock of his words, though he was quite correct. His eyes held the truth he had surely known for quite some time now, sharp and darkened with the weight of it. 'Young Master--'_

_'Do not call me that,' his voice snapped out, soft as ever. 'We are too close to the end for titles to be necessary anymore. I am Ciel.'_

_'Ciel. . .'_

_'If you are trying to comfort me, I do not want you to. I chose my own fate, and any comfort dishonors that.'_

_A slow growing smirk made its way across my lips, and for a moment, I found myself close to revealing my fangs. I resisted, but drew the boy closer to me, my smirk widening as I did so. 'Oh, Ciel. . . Only a foolish human would make a deal with me. . .'_

_He let out a quiet breath, his eyes fluttering closed with my words as he allowed himself to be drawn into my dark embrace._

_I pressed a kiss to his forehead, and whispered so faintly he could barely hear, 'And only such an intelligent and beautiful soul could have captured my attention the way you have. You made a deal that ends with your life taken, of course, but I will not be forgetting you, Ciel Phantomhive.'_

_I moved my lips down to press against his in a powerful kiss._

_'You are mine, Ciel. You are the silver to my black.'_

_He did not respond, and we were lost to the darkness surrounding both of us in more ways than one that night._


End file.
